Incubus: Harsh Reality: Arc 5a
by deangirl1
Summary: One night in a bar has a profound effect on Dean and Sasha's relationship.
1. Bar Fight

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them. I am thankful to E. Kripke and Crimson1 for the loan of their wonderful creations.

**A/N:** Dean and Sasha's relationship has so far lead a charmed existence. Unfortunately, as we all know, the "_real_" world is not perfect. This story was born out of that imperfection.

Many, many thanks as always to Crimson1 for the support and the beta on this chapter – any remaining mistakes are my own…

This story takes place between arc 5 and arc 6 of _Incubus_.

There be slash ahead…

* * *

Sasha returned to their booth with a round of beers. Sam had fired up the laptop, and he and Dean were deep in a discussion over the case. They were looking into a possible vengeful spirit at a primary school in Patoka, Indiana, with the added complication that there could be demonic activity involved. While they were checking out the information, Dean was also checking out the patrons.

They had stopped for the night and were painfully short of funds. They'd used up pretty much all of their cash. There was no way they were going to stiff Ula and her family after she had been so good to them, so they'd paid her in cash. Their credit cards were a bust too, and they hadn't had a chance to replace them.

Sasha rested one hand on Dean's shoulder, resting his hip against Dean's body and leaning over to see the lap top. Dean didn't really pay that much attention because he'd grown so used to Sasha touching him.

Sam, however, glanced up and frowned. He caught Dean's eye, glanced at Sasha, raised an eyebrow and glanced toward the rough crowd at the pool tables.

It only took a moment for the penny to drop for Dean. That kind of intimacy in this kind of bar was at the very least stupid if not downright dangerous. He quickly shrugged Sasha off, regretting that it was a bit rough.

"Personal space, Dude!" Dean ground out.

Sasha looked hurt and opened his mouth to say something but stopped at the look on Dean's face. It was only there for a moment – just long enough to ensure that Sasha saw it – but definitely an apology of sorts.

"Not here," Dean barely breathed and tilted his head to indicate that Sasha should sit next to Sam.

"So. See anything that struck your fancy?" Dean fairly leered as he raised his voice to insure being overheard and turned to check out the women standing around the bar. Sasha knew to play along.

"Slim pickings, but I might be able to find a little something to occupy myself. How about you?" Sasha glanced towards the pool tables.

"Might be worth my while," Dean acquiesced. "You ok here, Sammy?"

"Yeah, you guys go ahead and have a good time. I'm just going to do a bit of work."

Sasha stopped Dean with a hand on his arm just as Dean was about to get up.

"You sure your shoulder's up for this?" Sasha's worry splashed across his face.

"Better every day. I could beat these yokels with one hand tied behind my back," Dean reassured the incubus.

Dean got up and headed toward the pool tables. Sasha watched him go, his heart in his eyes. Sam touched his arm to grab his attention.

"You gotta watch yourself in a place like this. The natives are NOT going to be liberal minded, and they're not shy about correcting behaviour they don't agree with. Go make a splash at the bar."

"Even if I _was_ interested in anyone else, have you looked at the women in here?" Sasha almost whined.

"Doesn't matter now, Dude. You have to make it look good, so go mingle." Sam gave him a gentle shove.

It didn't take Sasha long to attract a small group of women. Sam noticed that he did have the cream of the crop, even if it was more like non-dairy substitute. As per usual, there were five women vying for the incubus' attention. The small group was laughing and flirting. Sam smiled at how effortlessly the incubus captivated them. He also quickly scanned the rest of the patrons to make sure that none of them were pissed off boyfriends. No one seemed to be giving the group much attention.

Dean meanwhile had seamlessly insinuated himself at a pool table and was currently in the process of losing the first game. The groups at the pool tables were a rough crowd, but not any worse than the crowds that Dean had been hustling since he was seventeen. Content that both his companions were settled in their natural elements, Sam turned his attention back to the computer.

Sam was so engrossed in his research that he didn't notice the two hours that flew by. Sasha had brought him another beer in there somewhere and Sam was just finishing it when Sasha slid into the booth across from him.

"How much longer do you think Dean is going to be?" Sasha asked.

Sam managed not to smile at the whine that tinged Sasha's question. He glanced over at the pool tables. Dean was still working his hustle. He couldn't appear to have improved miraculously, especially in a bar this rough. Dean had to be particularly careful when hustling in this type of bar. He couldn't win a whole lot of money at any one time. In a college town, he could count on a couple of guys being too cocky and too drunk who would be well off enough to be able to afford to part with a larger sum more amicably. The crowd in this bar would be quicker to recognize that they were being hustled and would be a lot more pissed off about it. Dean wouldn't have lost the first game by much and would be careful not to win any subsequent games by much.

"He'll be a while yet," Sam offered.

"Hmm. I think I might just head back to the motel."

"Nothing to keep you occupied?" Sam was a little surprised that Sasha would want to leave.

"My heart's not in it." Sasha glanced at Dean, his gaze lingering as Dean bent over the table to make a particularly difficult shot.

"Give me a minute to tell Dean, and I think I'll come back with you," Sam said, closing the laptop.

Sam wandered up to the pool table and watched for a minute until Dean saw him. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"We're going to head back to the motel," Sam said just loud enough for Dean to hear.

"'K. I'll see you later," Dean said and turned back to his game.

Sam made his way back to the table and gathered up his things.

"It's ok to leave him, right?" Sasha asked, turning a worried gaze on Dean.

"Yeah. We've been in way worse than this. There hasn't been any trouble all night, and Dean would have let me know if he wanted one of us to stay and watch his back," Sam assured him.

Sasha followed Sam out of the bar. Dean was concentrating on a shot, but he did raise his gaze long enough to watch Sasha move gracefully through the bar. He also noticed a number of female eyes follow the incubus as he left. Some of them, he noted, were just a bit disgruntled looking. He snorted softly to himself and turned back to his shot.

Dean didn't notice when the men he was playing pool with turned appraising gazes to where Dean had been looking. The locals had seen the redhead chatting up the local beauties and now noticed that he was leaving by himself. Pete, the ring leader of the bunch, noticed Dean's interest. He was also starting to get a bit irritated at the newcomer's skill with a cue. Pete considered himself the local heavyweight pool champion and wasn't enjoying being shown up by this young guy.

Joe, Dean's other current opponent had missed a shot and moved to the side to wait for another opening. Dean saw one of the local women sidle up to him. She was one of the ones Sasha had been chatting up earlier. Dean had been keeping his usual eye on both Sasha and Sam. Dean was concentrating on getting just the right number of balls sunk to win, but not win by so much as to piss off Pete and Joe. The girl's named seemed to be Candy. Dean smirked a little at that. He'd have to tease Sasha mercilessly about that one tomorrow.

Candy was busy leaning all over Joe now and whispering in his ear. He seemed to be getting a bit agitated at whatever it was that she was saying.

About an hour later, Dean figured it was safe to sink the last ball of the current game. He'd come out at about 150 for the night. Not a great amount but at least enough to pay for their hotel and breakfast, plus enough gas to get to a slightly nicer bar.

By this time a bit of a crowd had gathered. Pete was, after all, the local champ and here he was being beaten. Pete was not happy when Dean sank the last ball.

"I guess that's the game," Dean said neutrally. He'd done this enough to know that Pete was sporting a bit of a bruised ego.

"I guess it is," Pete's voice was flat.

"Well thanks for the games," Dean moved to replace his pool cue.

"Don't figure we're done yet," Pete growled out.

"Hunh. Ok. I guess I've got time for one more," Dean tried hard not to sigh. He knew where this was going. If he wasn't careful, things would get ugly. He couldn't afford to lose the next game, but he'd have to, to appease the locals.

"Joe! Why don't you get our new buddy here a beer?" Pete directed.

"Ah... I'm ok, actually," Dean broke in, trying to stop Joe from heading for the bar.

"No really, I insist," Pete said. Joe nodded. Dean was perfectly aware that there was an unspoken understanding between the two locals. It was obvious from the time they'd spent together that Joe was Pete's lackey.

"Just the two of us this time," Pete stated as they waited for Joe to rack up the balls.

When he finished, Joe headed for the bar. Pete and Dean had laid their bets on the edge of the table. Pete broke and started to clear the table. Dean leaned back on the wall to wait for Pete to miss a shot, which he would before too long because it was pretty obvious that Pete wasn't the local champ because of his skill. He was local champ because the rest of the locals were afraid to beat him. Dean did sigh.

Joe returned with beers for all three of them. Handing one to Dean, he set Pete's down on the edge of the pool table. Joe came to stand beside Dean. He clinked his bottle against Dean's.

"Bottoms up," Joe tilted his beer back and took a long chug.

Dean had had no intention of drinking the beer, but now he had no choice. He tilted the bottle back and took the smallest drink he felt he could get away with. He knew that he needed to keep his wits about him. Unfortunately, Joe had other ideas and was watching him like a hawk.

"We not good enough for you to drink with?" Joe's voice was suddenly a bit less friendly.

Dean smiled, clinked his bottle with Joe's, and tipped his back. Joe smiled back and turned his attention back to the pool table.

It wasn't long before Pete missed a shot and it was Dean's turn. He went to set his beer down beside Pete's, but before he could, Pete was tipping his at Dean and forcing Dean to chug back another good bit of his beer. Not for the first time, Dean was thankful that he was the one doing the hustling and not Sammy. Dean hadn't had a lot to drink all evening, so he knew that chugging one or two beers wasn't going to have that much of an effect on him.

Dean was surprised when after sinking three shots he stood back up and suddenly felt dizzy. He could feel sweat trickling down his face and back. He shook it off and leaned in for the next shot. He made that one but missed the next.

Pete moved back to the table, picking up his beer and taking another long drink. He looked at Dean, obviously waiting for him to do likewise. Dean tipped his beer in Pete's direction and took the required drink. He was suddenly grateful for the wall to lean against. He knew he was going to lose by more than he'd intended, but he should still come away with enough money.

Pete sank a few more balls before missing again. Dean pushed up off the wall and took an unsteady step before regaining his balance. He knew that the beer wasn't the only thing affecting him. The game was almost finished though. He was pretty sure he could sink enough balls to make it look good and leave enough easy shots for Pete to win. Dean hoped that whatever they'd spiked his drink with would hold off long enough for him to get out of there.

As Dean expected, Pete tipped his own beer and waited for Dean to drink. The beer was still cool but did nothing to mitigate the sudden heat in the bar.

The crowd around the table had thinned out as it was getting late. Candy was back to hanging off of Joe. Joe might not have been her first choice that night, but it was obvious that she had no intention of going home alone.

Dean quickly sank the balls and set the table up to make it easy for Pete to clear it. Pete stepped up to the table and tipped his beer up to finish it. Dean tried not to grimace as he finished his own off. Pete smiled as Dean almost missed the side of the pool table with his empty. This time as Dean made his way back to the wall, he was pretty sure most of his steps were unsteady.

Pete managed to sink the remaining balls fairly quickly although he did give Dean a short moment of panic when he almost missed a dead easy shot. Finally, it was over.

"Good shot," Dean said as Pete sank the last ball. "Guess I was pretty lucky in some of those other games."

"Yeah," Pete drawled. Suddenly he was in Dean's personal space. The room was spinning. Dean was finding it a bit hard to breath.

"Seems like maybe you used up all of your luck." Pete's voice was dangerous.

"Hey, just a friendly game, right?" Dean was trying his best to defuse the situation. He'd checked his snark at the door. Sam would deny that Dean ever held his tongue, but Dean did know when to keep his mouth shut. He was pretty sure this was a lost cause though. He figured he might have a chance to get out with a few bruises. It was pretty much a foregone conclusion that most of the money was going to be staying in Pete's pocket. Dean smirked a little at the thought of the money he'd had the foresight to stash in his boot when he went to the bathroom earlier.

Smirking was not a good idea. Pete suddenly pushed Dean hard up against the wall, leaning into his face.

"You think you can just walk into our bar and try to hustle us? You fucking pervert! Don't think we don't know what you are," Pete ground out, disgust dripping from his voice.

Between the heat and whatever had been in the beer, Dean was having a hard time processing what Pete was talking about. And then the penny dropped.

Sasha.

Shit.

"You fucking faggots come in here, snubbing our women, thinking you're better than us..." Pete grabbed Dean by the shoulders and slammed him back against the wall. Pain exploded in Dean's barely healing shoulder. Dean was already woozy enough that he wasn't able to entirely prevent his head from making contact with the wall, which didn't help with the already spinning room.

"Hey! Dude! I don't know what you're talking about," Dean tried. He could tell he was slurring his words slightly. "I know I'm pretty hot, but I'm just not interested in you in that way."

Pete slammed him against the wall again.

"Do you think we're blind?" Pete's breath was hot on Dean's face. "I saw you checking each other out all night. Candy saw it too."

"Is this about us not wanting to catch something from the local talent?" At this point, Dean figured what the hell, he was going to have to fight his way out anyway.

Candy leaned in around Pete.

"You bastard! I saw the way he kept looking at you all night. He barely gave me the time of day. You think you're so special? Your kind make me sick," she screeched and spit in his face for good measure before storming off.

_A woman scorned_, Dean thought, _and not a very attractive one either_.

Pete was just about foaming at the mouth.

It was time to stop screwing around. Dean knew he had to get out of there fast or he wasn't getting out. He closed his eyes briefly and took a long, deep breath to steady himself and stop the room from spinning, waiting for his opening.

When Pete loosened his hold slightly and leaned back out of Dean's space to take a breath, Dean took advantage of it. Before Pete could react, Dean shoved him back hard with one hand and bringing the pool cue up with the other hand, Dean slammed it against Pete's head. Pete was too close for it to do any real damage, but it was enough to surprise and stun Pete bringing him to his knees and giving Dean an opening.

The effect of the drugged beer slowed Dean's reaction time and reduced his ability to respond to his environment. He hadn't realized that Joe had moved in from the right and another of Pete's goons was closing in from the left. He was vaguely aware of Candy screaming.

As Dean bolted for the door, Joe grabbed his one arm. Luckily it was his good arm, and Dean used the momentum to swing at Joe, catching him a glancing blow with the pool cue that staggered him and got him to let go of Dean.

Dean righted himself and turned again to try for the door. By now Pete had regained his feet, goon number 2 was right on him and reinforcements were arriving.

Dean ducked and managed to avoid a left hook from Pete. As he came back up, he swung at goon 2 connecting and at the same time kicking back at a new player, catching him in the gut and sending him crashing back into yet another new goon.

All the bobbing and weaving on top of the drugs was disorienting Dean. He caught movement to his right and swung the pool cue. This time, however, Pete was ready for it and grabbing it with both hands, wrenched it out of Dean's grasp. Dean gave a weak grin and made another attempt at breaking for the door.

Dean's way was blocked by Joe and goon's 2 though 5.

"Grab him!" Pete barked out.

Dean threw a right hook at Joe who was closest, but by now he was so unsteady that he completely missed as Joe easily dodged his fist, countering and connecting with his own right to Dean's jaw. Dean staggered to the side to meet with goon 2's right hook. The only thing that prevented Dean from simply crumpling to the floor was goon 3 and 4 grabbing both his arms.

Dean shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He glanced desperately around himself. The bar had pretty much cleared out. Dean thought randomly that it was still too early for closing time.

"Ok asshole," Pete seemed to come out of nowhere to leer into his face again. "You really didn't need to piss me off anymore."

Dean made another attempt to break free, but between his already wrenched shoulder, the two shots to his head and whatever was in the beer, the two on either side of him had no problem holding him still. In fact, all he accomplished was to piss Pete off more. Pete slammed his right fist deep into Dean's gut. Dean huffed and doubled over.

A hand fisted into Dean's short hair from behind wrenching him upright again. He breathed through his nose and tried not to heave on Pete. Dean was pretty sure that would really piss Pete off.

Pete's fist connected with his gut again, wrenching his head out of the grip of the goon behind him and doubling him over again. This time when the goon's hand fisted in his hair bringing Dean upright, he couldn't breathe.

Pete was in his face and Pete's voice sounded like it was coming through a tunnel. Pete's angry face seemed to swim in and out of focus and seemed to be melting somehow.

Pete slapped Dean viciously, the one goon keeping his head still.

"...We don't like your kind around here... have ways of dealing with you... never come back...won't do that...faggot..." Dean's head lolled forward.

Dean snapped back to consciousness as liquid hit his face. Pete was roughly going through his pockets.

"Already tol you... not mmm...type," Dean managed to slur out.

Pete pulled back, Dean's hard earned cash in his fist. He didn't bother to count it.

"Show this asshole what we think of his kind." Pete directed his goons.

Dean felt the first few blows to his head and torso, but he was already too far gone to help himself much and only managed to return a few of the blows before he found himself slamming into a table and sliding to the ground. Kicks to his ribs, back, and legs followed. He managed to protect his head well enough, and then he was being hauled upright again.

Pete was back in his face. Only this time he had Dean's knife in his hand.

_Shit._ Dean knew he was in real trouble with no back up.

Pete was crowded against Dean, his hot and fetid breath, turning Dean's already sensitive stomach.

"Now, we're going to really teach you a lesson." Dean was having a hard time seeing. At some point in the festivities, a cut had been opened up over his right eye and blood was running into it and down the right side of his face. His left eye felt like it wanted to swell shut. He still felt weak and disoriented from whatever he'd been roofied by.

Dean was able to focus and concentrate on his knife, though. He knew better than anyone how sharp it was.

Dean watched as Pete lowered the blade down his body and cut off the button to his jeans. Dean swallowed hard and closed his eyes. He felt Pete's hand slide in to hold his waistband as the blade slid in and sliced up beside where his zipper was. The blade nicked his belly as it slid through the waistband of his jeans. Dean felt his ruined jeans fall to the floor around his ankles.

This was NOT happening. Dean's inner voices were screaming.

The goons holding Dean on either side dragged him towards the pool table and bent him over it. Dean's face was pressed into the felt of the table.

Suddenly, Pete slammed a pool cue down beside his face. Pressing Dean's head further into the table with a hand to the back of his head, Pete leaned in over him. Pete rolled the pool cue away and toward Dean under the palm of his hand. Dean's knife was also lying on the pool table.

"Now, you're gonna find out what we do to your kind. You like it like that, you're gonna get it like that," Pete's breath on his cheek made Dean shudder. He fully understood what Pete intended to do to him.

"I'm gonna kill you, you fuck," Dean ground out.

Pete pushed up off of Dean's head. The pool cue disappeared from Dean's vision. Dean pulled and bucked against the hands holding him to the table, his sore shoulder forgotten in his panic. His jeans prevented him from even attempting to kick out at his attackers. His panic grew and he struggled harder as he realized how helpless he was. Shades of the old nightmare came back to him.

Dean was so freaked out by this point that he almost didn't feel the first blow of the pool cue across his ass. The next one laced across his back. The second strike across his back broke a rib and Dean sure as hell felt that one. On the third strike across his back the pool cue broke. That seemed to satisfy some deep-seated need of Pete's and the blows stopped.

Dean was struggling to remain conscious let alone keep struggling. His blood ran cold as he felt a hand in the waistband of his boxers. He was seeing spots as he started to hyperventilate.

The report of a gun brought everything to a halt.

"That's enough!" A voice that Dean didn't recognize roared. He assumed it was the owner of the gun. Dean was torn between wanting to kiss the feet of the gun owner and wanting to beat the shit out of him for taking so long to intervene.

"Keep out of it, Paul. This is no concern of yours. If you'd keep the damn queers out of here we wouldn't have to clean your bar up for you." Pete growled.

"I'm glad to see that you remember on some level that this is my bar you fucking idiot. I'm not going to sit by and let you kill some guy and get the cops to shut down my bar." Paul did not sound at all happy to Dean. Dean was pretty happy about that.

"Not your concern, Paul." Pete wasn't coming up with any new material. Dean was pretty sure that while Pete probably had the advantage of numbers, he didn't have a gun on him or he would have used it by now.

"Take your buddies and get out, Pete. I won't tell you again. If I have to, I'll call the cops." Paul's voice had a quiet authority.

"Fine." Pete ground out. "Take him," Pete directed at the goons holding Dean's arms.

"NO! Leave him," Paul directed.

"Don't push it," Pete warned.

"Or what?"

"You'll regret it."  
"Doubt that."

Dean was willing to put his faith in the quiet authority he was still picking up from Paul. He wasn't all that surprised when he was suddenly released by the two goons holding him. Unfortunately, surprised or not, he wasn't able to prevent himself from crumpling to the ground.

"Typical. You start this mess by letting shit like this into your bar and then when we try to clean it up, you bitch about it. I know you don't like his kind anymore than we do. This isn't over," Pete threatened.

Dean felt the broken pool cue land on his back as Pete dropped both pieces. He was grateful, as his eyes blinked slowly and painfully, his vision swimming in and out of focus, that Pete's feet walked by him without landing a parting shot.

Dean's eyes were sliding shut and then someone grabbed him by the collar and shook him.

Dean groaned.

"Hey! I want you out of here. I don't want anyone murdered in my bar, but that doesn't mean that you are welcome in it, you pervert."

_Paul_, Dean thought.

Dean pawed weakly at the floor and managed to get himself slumped up against the pool table. He realized his jeans were still around his ankles. He reached down and grabbed his ruined jeans. As he dragged them up, his bruised back screamed in protest.

"Ian! Can you take this asshole back to whatever hole he crawled out of?"

"Don't put yourself out on my account. I can get myself home," Dean managed to slur out.

"I don't want you murdered in my fucking parking lot either, you idiot," Paul ground out.

Dean tried to roll over to his knees in an attempt to get his legs under himself and get up. Unfortunately, he was still dizzy and ended up more or less face planting it to end up with his head on the floor and his ass in the air. He was almost grateful for the two sets of strong arms that grasped him on either side, hauling him to his feet where he swayed precariously. He had one hand holding his pants up. Being upright had its own new set of problems. Dean was suddenly overwhelmed by nausea as the world swam in and out of focus. His knees threatened to betray him.

Between the two of them, they got Dean to Ian's car. Pete and some of his goons were predictably hanging out in the parking lot. The motel was really just down the road, which was why they had walked instead of driving the Impala. Ian quickly covered the distance to the motel, making sure that no one followed him. When they arrived at the motel, Ian parked the car.

"Get out," He said flatly. "Don't bother coming back to the bar. Ever."

"Don't have to tell me twice. Your bar pretty much sucks ass anyway." Dean snarked as he tried to haul himself out of the car.

Dean managed to get himself out of the car by climbing up the door. Once he closed the door, he leaned on the car for a moment trying to get a bearing on where up was. Ian had other ideas and gunned the car backwards out of the parking lot. That almost resulted in Dean crashing to the pavement. He managed to stagger to the motel doorway and leaned heavily on it. He was grateful that when Pete searched his pockets he had left the motel keys alone.

Somehow Dean got the key in the lock and staggered to their room. He was pretty sure that he missed most of the doors as he bounced off the walls as he travelled down the hallway to their room. Once more Dean managed to get the key in the lock and get the door open.

Apparently, he wasn't as smooth opening it as he thought, however, because when he finally stumbled into the room, Sam was heading towards the door in the dark.

"Damn it, Dean," Sam growled. "Could you make any more noise? Did you get that drunk after we left?"

"Sorry Sam," Dean whispered, trying his hardest not to slur his words.

"I'm going to bed. I suggest you do likewise sooner rather than later. You're the one who wanted to leave first thing."

Sam shook his head and returned to his bed.

Dean tried to bounce off as few pieces of furniture as possible as he made his way to the bathroom. He was pathetically grateful that his duffle was between him and the bathroom and he grabbed it on the way by. He needed a change of clothes and he suspected the medical kit would come in handy too.

Dean made it into the bathroom flicking on the light and softly closing the door. He dropped the duffle and reluctantly looked at himself in the mirror. Yup. He looked at least as bad as he felt. Suddenly, the world pitched nauseatingly around him and Dean lunged for the toilet. He lost everything in his stomach and continued to retch and dry heave until he passed out cold, bumping his head on the porcelain for good measure as he slumped bonelessly to the floor.

Dean was shuddering uncontrollably when he woke on the cold and none too clean floor of the bathroom. He hurt everywhere. He was freezing and the room was still spinning. The evening replayed in his mind. The thought of Pete and what might have happened washed over him. What had come so close to happening. How close it was to the nightmare. Dean pushed himself quickly off the floor as saliva flooded his mouth, and he leaned over the toilet again. The dry heaves pulled violently on his broken ribs.

As much as Dean wished he could hide this from his brother and Sasha, he was relieved when he heard Sam's gentle knock at the bathroom door.

"You ok in there, Dean?" Sam's soft voice penetrated the closed door.

"C'min Sammy," Dean managed to slur through chattering teeth.

Sam slowly opened the door. The noises had prepared Sam for a brother who was less than 100, but he was not prepared for what he saw when he finally laid eyes on his brother.

"Shit Dean! What the hell happened?"

"Shhh. Don't want Sasha in on this just yet," Dean managed to get out before leaning back over the toilet to dry heave some more.

Sam took inventory of the injuries he could see and his brother's general state. There was blood crusted on the right side of his face. The left eye was swelling shut and was sporting a rainbow of colours already. That would go nicely with the other bruises already starting to show on his jaw.

Sam noticed that Dean's jeans were half off, but he hadn't taken off his jacket. Dean was shuddering almost uncontrollably and it seemed to be from more than just cold.

_Shock_, Sam thought immediately. He quickly stepped out of the bathroom and grabbed the blanket off his bed, returning quickly and tucking it around his brother. Dean was leaning his forehead against the cold porcelain of the toilet.

Sam gently laid his hand on Dean's back. He was totally unprepared for Dean to whimper and shrink away from his touch.

"Shit, Dean. Where all are you hurt? You have to let me look at you. What the hell happened?" Sam's voice was low, but Dean could hear the concern turning to anger.

"Be faster if I told you where it _didn't_ hurt," Dean tried to give his brother at least a shadow of a smirk.

"Don't expect me to be kissing your elbow, Indie," Sam fired back. "I hope the other guys look worse anyway."

"Not so much, this time," Dean's voice faded to barely a whisper and he dropped his eyes. Sam was distressed to see what he knew to be a tinge of the red of embarrassment creep up Dean's too pale face.

"Ok. Let me look at what you've done to yourself this time," Sam's voice was all business. He knew enough to focus on making Dean physically comfortable. They'd have to deal with the emotional fallout later.

Sam reached out gentle hands to tilt Dean's head. The cut running into his hairline and dripping blood down his face would need a couple of stitches. The rest of the damage seemed fairly superficial. Dean's pupils were still mostly blown. Sam hissed.

"Did those bastards drug you? This isn't just alcohol or tempers getting the better of them, is it?" Sam's voice was tight with outrage.

"Yeah. They slipped something in the beer. I thought I could get out before it became a real problem. Didn't give me an option about drinking it…" Dean was obviously and typically, taking the blame for the situation.

Sam shook his head and moved his inspection lower. Sam reached for Dean's shirts, but Dean made a startled noise and grabbed Sam's wrists.

"Dude, c'mon, I can't help you if you don't let me see," Sam said gently. He was deeply troubled by the startled deer-in-the-headlights look on Dean's face. Sam waited until Dean relaxed and dropped his wrists. Brushing Dean's jacket and flannel to the side, Sam lifted up Dean's t-shirt and hissed again.

"Dude. D'you spring a leak or you into snake impersonations now," Dean quipped. He was quickly using any energy he had left and wanted to just lie down and sleep.

Sam took in the bruises to Dean's torso and the return of swelling and bruising in his shoulder. There were several boot marks on Dean's torso. Not all from the same boot.

_A typically fair Winchester brawl, then_, Sam thought.

Gently inspecting Dean's ribs, Sam tsked when he found two that were obviously broken.

The gash on Dean's abdomen was pretty superficial. Sam glanced down and noted the bruising on Dean's upper legs, wondering at his dropping his pants before taking off his boots. That's when Sam noticed Dean's jeans and they set off an alarm bell for Sam. They suddenly made the entire attack take on a whole new horror. The missing button and slashed zipper were all the additional evidence he needed.

Sam sighed. He had hoped that Dean's relationship with Sasha would remain charmed, but he knew too much about the intolerance of the world in general. It had really only been a matter of time. He just wanted his brother to be happy. Dean deserved it. Sam was afraid of the barriers this would inevitably cause Dean to throw up.

Dean's head was resting on the toilet again. It was really the only thing holding him up. Sam gently reached around his brother to lift his shirts to look at his back. The shirts stuck for a moment and Dean shivered more violently as more of him was exposed to the cool air. There were three angry welts lacing Dean's back. Two were raised and bruised welts but the third had actually broken the skin. Sam was shaking now.

He knew that he had to ask Dean what had happened. If things had gone… Sam couldn't even think it. But he had to know. Dean could have serious internal injuries.

"Dean. Umm. Did they…" Sam couldn't force the words past his lips.

"No. No, Sammy. I never lost my boxers," Dean knew he had to reassure his brother but his voice was so low, Sam had to lean in to catch it.

"Let's start by getting your head cleaned up and some stitches in that gash," Sam tended to babble as he patched his brother up to keep from thinking too hard about the pain Dean had to be in. If he just focused on the task, Sam could get through this.

"S'ok, Sammy. Jus…wanna…sleep," Dean was starting to lose his battle to stay awake. Sam hoped it was more the drug and exhaustion and not internal injuries, concussion, or shock. He hated to do it, but Sam patted his brother's cheek gently but firmly.

"Hey. Hey! You need to stay with me for a bit yet," Sam cajoled. Sam quickly got the med kit open and found what he needed.

After cleaning and stitching Dean's head, Sam quickly went through Dean's duffle and found some sweats and a long sleeved Henley he could sleep in. Sam undid Dean's boots. When he went to slide off Dean's ruined jeans, Dean again whimpered and tried to scramble back away from Sam.

"It's ok, Dean. It's just me. Just Sam," he comforted quietly until Dean stilled and shut his eyes again.

There wasn't much Sam could do about the mass of bruises he discovered on Dean's legs, so he got him to slip into the pants and then re-tucked the blanket around him before taking off Dean's shirts. The loss of heat had Dean shivering and shaking violently. Sam worked as quickly as he could. The knife wound on Dean's abdomen and the welt on his back were nasty and would sting but didn't require stitches. Sam took the precaution of wrapping Dean's ribs. Hospitals wouldn't do it anymore, but Sam was afraid of one of them puncturing a lung, so he went the extra mile.

Sam kept up the meaningless chatter and was rewarded by non-specific grunts from his brother. But it did its job. It kept Dean awake for a while longer and it seemed to comfort and quiet him. Sam got Dean into the Henley and snugged the blanket up around Dean's shoulders.

Finally, Sam grabbed a glass of water and a couple of ibuprofens. He wished he had stronger pain medication, but this would have to do in a pinch.

"Not sure that I can keep that down, dude," Dean protested weakly.

"At least try Dean. It's not much but it will help with the bruising," Sam wasn't to be denied.

"You ready to try for bed?" Sam needed to get Dean off of the dirty and cold bathroom floor.

"M," Dean's grunt was non-committal.

"C'mon, ya big lug. I'll put you in my bed. You probably don't want Sasha rolling over and giving you a big hug tonight," Sam joked.

Suddenly, Dean looked stricken. He'd been able to put Sasha out of his mind. Sasha was going to be pissed. At him. At the goons. Dean saw angry incubus all over the horizon.

"You're the one kicks me out of bed," Dean stalled.

"You can have it all to yourself," Sam countered.

"Hey! You keep your hands off my incubus," Dean returned.

"You can have him all to yourself too," Sam chuckled.

"Where are you gonna sleep," Dean blinked owlishly at his brother.

"I'm gonna stay awake and wake your ass up to make sure you're all still there, bro."

Sam reached down and tried to find a place on his brother that he could use to get him upright enough to make it to the bed. Dean's eyes were already drifting closed.

"C'mon Dean," Sam encouraged.

Dean struggled to stay awake, get his feet underneath himself, and help Sam get him up without crying out like a girl. He bit his lip so hard, it almost bled. As soon as he was upright, the world tilted alarmingly and he was convinced he was going to be sick again. He was able to breathe through it though, and Sam led him back into the bedroom and over to the closest bed. Dean gratefully sank down on it. He was stumped as to how to lie. Stomach was out cuz of the knife wound. Back was out cuz of the marks from the pool cue. Right side was his ribs, shoulder, and head injury. That left his left side. Dean curled up and was asleep almost before Sam could get the covers over him.

Sam sighed. He'd have to stay awake and wake his brother up in an hour. He was still worried about concussion and shock. Dean was shivering, but he was also sweating. Not knowing what the assholes at the bar had put in Dean's beer, Sam wanted to make sure there were no lasting effects from that either.

Moving to the table, Sam opened the laptop. He'd pulled the bathroom door mostly to but left the light on so he could still see Dean.

He'd been working for almost an hour and was just about to get up and check on Dean when Sasha woke up. Sasha stretched and blinked sleepily at Sam.

"Isn't Dean back yet?"

"Yeah. He ran into a bit of trouble," Sam said quietly, rising to move to Sasha's side.

Sasha immediately sat up and looked around frantically for Dean. Realizing that he wasn't in the bed with him, he turned quickly to Sam's and seeing Dean there made to jump up. Sam caught his arm. Sasha went to wrench his arm out of Sam's grip.

"Wait," Sam hissed.

"What? Why?" Sasha's first instinct was to get pissed off at Sam for keeping him from Dean.

"Look. I don't know what went on there tonight," Sam felt bad for lying to the incubus, but he knew that Dean didn't want Sasha to know the particulars, at least not right now.

"I don't know what _exactly_ went on, but I do know that on some level Dean was embarrassed by it. He didn't want you to see him when he came in, and then he pretty much passed out. I do know they beat him pretty bad and they drugged him to help them do it." Sam kept his voice low and kept his hand on Sasha's arm. He could feel the tension building in the incubus.

"I'll fucking kill them," Sasha ground out and his eyes flashed red.

"You'll do no such thing," Sam's voice was hard and cold. John would be shocked at how closely Sam could mimic him even unintentionally.

"You'll let this go. We can't afford that kind of attention. And we need to get out of this town." Sam's voice brooked no dissent.

Sasha didn't look happy, but Sam felt his arm relax a little.

"Do you think I could have my arm back now to go and check on Dean?" Sasha's voice had regained its control.

"He looks bad. He won't want you to make a big deal out of this," Sam cautioned. Sasha just grunted in response.

Sasha moved quietly to the other bed. Dean was facing away from the other bed and towards the bathroom which meant that the light of the bathroom fell upon his face. It was Sasha's turn to hiss when he saw Dean's bruised and swollen face. He turned stricken blue eyes to Sam.

"What else?" Sasha barely breathed.

"Bruises all over. Boot marks. A shallow knife wound on his stomach. Two broken ribs. Welts on his back, probably from a pool cue. Shoulder's bruised and swollen again." Sam figured Sasha was going to get to see it all eventually anyway so why bother trying to hide any of it now.

Sasha sank to the floor beside the bed. He gently and tenderly ghosted a hand through Dean's hair being careful to stay away from the stitches.

"Dean?" Sasha's thumb stroked his cheekbone. "Dean? Can you wake up for me?"

Dean's eyelashes fluttered darkly on his too pale skin. Sasha could see the chills that were wracking his body.

"Sam? We should turn up the heat."

Sam moved to do as Sasha suggested.

"Dean." Sasha tried again, a little more insistently this time.

Sasha was rewarded by a very thin slit of green.

"Hey. What's with ditching me? I'm all lonely in that big bed by myself," Sasha's voice was soft.

"Hmm. Sorry. Don't wan you takin me f'gran'ed," Dean's words were still slurring and weak.

"I could never do that," Sasha tried to smile as he ghosted his hand over Dean's hair again. He missed Dean's initial flinch at the contact.

"Can I get you anything? A drink? How are you feeling?" The last question slipped out before Sasha could stop it. He knew as well as Sam what the answer to that would be.

"'M fine. Water'd be good." Dean's teeth were chattering again.

"Sure you are. Hold on. I'll get the water," Sasha said as he pushed up off the floor and turned to the bathroom. Sam saw the stricken look on Sasha's face. Sam understood why Dean hadn't wanted to tell Sasha right away. It only delayed the look of anguish and the beginning tendrils of guilt that Dean knew were inevitable. The beginning of the if onlys.

In the time it took for Sasha to get to the bathroom and back with the water, it was obvious that he had worked through a number of emotions. Sam wasn't all that surprised to see a flash of red in place of the brilliant blue of Sasha's eyes.

Returning to Dean, Sasha gently helped him get into a position to take a drink. After a few tiny sips, Dean was pushing Sasha away and almost panting with the exertion.

"Who did this, Dean?" The anger pulsated through Sasha's voice.

"Let it go." Dean's voice was barely a whisper.

"No way in hell someone does this to you and gets away with it." Sasha ground out. He was sitting on the floor again to try for some kind of eye contact with Dean.

"Please." Dean breathed. The plea in Dean's voice made Sasha pause. Dean was close to begging, and Sasha hated that. There was no way that Sasha could resist that.

"Ok. But only for now. We are going to talk about this in the morning." Sasha's voice was still quiet but firm as well.

"Hmpf," Dean's response was non-committal.

"Think you might be up for a little company?"

"Jus don't touch me," Dean cautioned as his eyes slid shut.

Sasha stood and looked at Sam.

"Do you mind trading beds? I'll keep an eye on him for the rest of the night. You should get some sleep too, Sam."

"Ok. If you're sure," Sam still felt odd letting someone else watch out for his brother. On the other hand, it was certainly a big enough job for two.

Sasha gave Sam a tight smile and walked back between the beds so that he could crawl in behind Dean. He lifted the covers and was careful to jostle the bed as little as possible as he got in. He could feel the heat radiating off of Dean's injuries, especially his back. What Sasha didn't feel was the tension that initially ran through Dean's body.

Sasha carefully moved to be almost spooning Dean but carefully kept their bodies from actually touching. He hoped that the proximity of his body heat would help to warm Dean up. Sasha placed one large hand comfortingly on the back of Dean's neck. Sasha did feel Dean flinch at the contact, but then he felt him relax and was rewarded with a low contented noise from deep in Dean's throat.

* * *

**A/N:** So? Does everyone hate me now? I will post the second half and conclusion in a few days….

Please leave a comment…


	2. After

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing and am further in debt to Kripke and Crimson1 for the loan of their creations.

**A/N:** Here is the second and final part. Dean and Sasha have to come to terms with Dean's attack. All three boys must come to terms with how it affects their relationship.

Thanks to everyone who took a moment to review. I was a little nervous in posting this, so your support and kind words were much appreciated.

As always, a special thank you to Crimson1 for allowing me to play so freely in her sandbox. Much love.

There be slash ahead…

* * *

The first thing Dean noticed was the smell of coffee. The second thing Dean noticed was pain. Everywhere. Which got way worse when he cracked one eye and light tried to stab through the centre of his head. Opening his eye was a really bad idea because suddenly the room was spinning. Dean felt the nausea building. He knew that he'd better start heading for the bathroom now because he was pretty sure it was going to take him a while to get there.

The minute Dean tried to move he let out a groan. He couldn't help himself. He barely moved at all and the pain blossomed in his head, his stomach, his ribs, his shoulder, and his back. And then Sasha was right there, his cobalt eyes shining with concern. And Dean hated that. He hated being the weak one, being the damsel in distress.

"Dean! You're awake," Sasha crouched by the bed.

"Brilliant statement of the obvious there, Sherlock," Dean croaked back and felt bad almost immediately. Dean was punished by the hurt look that crossed Sasha's face.

"Help me up," Dean's voice managed to convey the urgency of his request.

Sasha managed to help Dean up by grasping his arms, which seemed relatively unscathed from the night before. As soon as Dean was upright, the room pitched violently and he would have face planted if Sasha hadn't been essentially holding him up. Dean's determined forward momentum meant they kept going toward the bathroom, and Dean managed to regain enough equilibrium by the time they reached the door that he was able to shrug Sasha off.

Before Sasha could follow him, Dean had pushed the door to in his face and sank down at the toilet retching. There really wasn't anything to come up. Dean rested his head against the cool porcelain. This was the worst hangover he could remember – and without the benefit of a good time to go with it. Dean shuddered again at the memory of the night before.

His relationship with Sasha was no longer strange to him. He'd stopped thinking about Sasha in terms of being with a "man", of being gay, a long time ago. The words had ceased to be important to him. The people close to them had found their relationship to be perfectly normal and a logical outcome of who they were. Dean didn't think of himself as gay. He thought of himself as a guy who was in love with an incubus who also happened to be a guy.

It wasn't that Dean was naïve. Far from it. But he'd forgotten the kind of intolerance that was so prevalent in the world. Demons he got. People were just crazy. He'd never imagined having that kind of blind hatred directed at himself. This was different than simply being an outsider. As an outsider, he might be ignored or overlooked but not actively hated.

"Ok Winchester. Get your shit in a pile. It didn't happen. And it's never going to happen. Not like that. Not with Pete, not with anyone – awake or asleep." Dean shook himself and pushed up to look at himself in the mirror.

He wasn't surprised to see that he looked as bad as he felt. He was pale and a thin sheen of sweat was covering his face. He lifted up his Henley. The slash on his abdomen could have been a lot worse – just a scratch really. The bruises – many still shaped like boots – were a lot more spectacular. When he twisted to see his back, he hissed. The welts caused by the pool cue were a bit more disturbing, and they were covered at least partially by the binding Sam had applied to his ribs.

Before he could pull his shirt down, Sasha had cracked the door.

"Dean?" Sasha's concerned voice changed suddenly to a gasp as he took in Dean's new technicolour bodysuit.

"Don't you knock? It looks worse than it is," Dean tried to grin but it came out as more of a grimace. His left eye was still mostly swollen shut and the right was black.

"Maybe you should try to have a shower? It might help a bit," Sasha suggested. His voice was carefully controlled, but Dean saw a flash of red in place of the usual bright blue of his eyes.

"Sasha? You know it's not worth it to do anything about this, right?"

"Sam's already made that case."

"And you are totally on board, right?" Dean pressed. He wasn't letting this go.

"Sure. Have a shower Dean." Sasha closed the door.

_Great_, Dean thought. They'd have to get out of town somehow on what he had managed to stash in his boot. He had to get Sasha away from the temptation of beating the crap out of those guys. He was pretty sure that's what Sasha would do because that's exactly what he would do. In fact, he _did _want to go back and kick the crap out of them. But the thing that Dean wanted to do at all costs was spare Sasha from knowing the details of the attack.

Dean knew that he was mostly to blame. He'd let his guard down. He'd grown up in bars like that – the utter rat holes of the world. He knew that there was no tolerance of "alternative lifestyles" at a bar like that. He should have made all of that perfectly clear to Sasha before they even went in. What role he would have to play, what role Sasha would have to play. It wasn't Sasha's fault that he hadn't grown up in places like that. Even as a hunter, Sasha's hustle was to sing at more upscale bars. Well, any bar that had live music with any talent was more upscale than last night's.

Above all else, Dean just didn't want Sasha to blame himself. Turning on the water, Dean waited for it to run as hot as he could stand. He was still cold. Dean knew he was the one to blame. He'd brought this on himself. He'd allowed himself to wallow in his little dream world, forgetting the consequences of living in the real one. Wearily, he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower.

As the water cascaded down his weary and battered body, Dean allowed the tears to come. Letting them strip away some of the pain of his battered soul as the hot water stripped some of the pain from his battered body.

Sam and Sasha were packing up the few things they had actually unpacked.

"I think we should let Dean rest for today and leave tomorrow," Sasha said.

"No. Trust us on this one, Sasha. It's best just to get out of town." Sam's voice was world weary. These were the sorts of towns that he had gladly left behind when he went to school. It was a whole different world.

"We still don't have any money."

"We'll figure something out. You keep Dean distracted and I can phone Bobby to wire us some money. He knows I'll pay it back. Dean will freak if he knows though."

"What is it with him and accepting help from _anybody_?" Sasha asked Sam.

"It's a big brother thing. I think he'd tell you it isn't in the job description." Sam smiled weakly at Sasha.

"Hmpf. I'm not his little brother," Sasha muttered.

"I think he's well aware of that," Sam did chuckle a bit at that. "Look. I'm going to go for some fresh coffee and to settle up the bill."

Sasha quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I'll simply _suggest_ that we've already paid." Sam didn't meet Sasha's eye. Sam didn't really like scamming with credit cards and mojoing someone seemed even worse for some reason.

"It's an emergency, Sam," Sasha tried to reassure him, plainly seeing Sam's conflict.

Once Sam was gone, Sasha looked around for any last items to pack. He decided to get out some clean clothes for Dean. He picked what he knew would be soft and warm. After seeing Dean's injuries, he knew the car ride, however long it turned out to be, would be far from fun for Dean.

Slipping into the bathroom, Sasha left the clean clothes and gathered up the dirty, including the ones from last night that had gotten shoved into a corner. They were coated in blood and would have to be washed, but Sasha folded them anyway. He froze when he got to Dean's jeans. Suddenly, it all made sense. From Sam's warning in the bar to Dean's jeans. Sasha's eyes burned red. And then they faded back to blue and filled with tears. This had been his fault. He'd unwittingly placed Dean in danger.

Sasha was still sitting on the bed holding Dean's jeans when Sam got back. Sam's gaze was immediately drawn to the jeans, but he could feel Sasha's gaze boring into him. When he met those brilliant blue eyes they were awash in tears of anguish.

"Sam?" Sasha's voice was breathless, "Did they…"

"NO!" Sam immediately reassured the incubus. "No. I think they tried _something_, but didn't get that far. Dean didn't tell me the details. He just said they never got past his boxers. Used _his_ knife to slice off the pants though, the bastards."

"Good. That's good. That they didn't…" Sasha gulped, "didn't…you know…."

By the time Dean emerged from the bathroom, they all had their masks firmly in place.

It didn't take them long to decide on a course of action. Dean needed to rest, but their need to get out of that town was greater. Dean revealed the money in his boot. It was enough for gas and food to get them a couple of hundred miles gone. Sasha suggested a town in Wisconsin. It was on the way to the case – still their ultimate destination – and it had a bar that Sasha had sung at before. They could hole up there for a few days until Dean recovered and it would get them time to get some new credit cards.

"Now we just have to pay up here," Dean sighed.

"Done," Sam replied.

"Huh? You got a secret stash you're holding out on us, Sammy?" Dean looked a little taken aback.

"No. Not like that…" Sam left it to hang in the air. The penny dropped for Dean with a resounding thud.

"Dude! Did you really? You really _are_ like freakin' Luke Skywalker!"

"Don't get used to it." Sam refused to even crack a smile.

Five minutes later, they were in the car and heading out of town. All of their thoughts strayed back to what they had left behind, however.

Sam was driving. They'd suggested that Dean should sit in the back, but he'd refused, saying that with the nausea he was still experiencing, sitting in the back would put him right over the edge. So Sasha was alone in the back and Dean was hunched miserably in shotgun. He was twisted so that his relatively injury free left side pressed into the seat. This meant, of course, that he still couldn't really look out the front windshield. They'd grabbed some ice for his shoulder before leaving, and Dean was awkwardly trying to keep it in place. He laid his head on the back of the seat and closed his eyes so that he wouldn't have to look at either Sam or Sasha. Every jostle of the car sent pain lancing though his entire body. The ibuprofen he took earlier didn't seem to be helping all that much.

By the time Dean had had the ice on his shoulder for the required twenty minutes, he was shaking with cold, despite having the heater cranked up enough that Sam and Sasha had both had to remove their jackets. Sam suggested stopping for something hot to drink at the next gas station. Luckily, they didn't have to wait long.

Dean cradled the hot coffee that Sam had bought for him in his hands. He knew if he drank it, he'd be seeing it again, but it was warm and he was still so cold. He could be snuggling a hot incubus right now, but somehow he just couldn't bring himself to climb in the back with him. He needed a little space to deal. Which explained the hurt look on Sasha's face right now.

Sam finally took the cup away when it threatened to spill from Dean's lax fingers. Guessing that his brother was never going to drink the now cold coffee, Sam tossed it out his window, thankful for the environmentally friendly cup.

They drove for a couple of hours before stopping for something to eat.

"I'm good. You two go ahead without me," Dean muttered without even lifting his head off the seat.

"Dean, c'mon. You can't stay out here – it's too cold. And you need to drink something at the very least. You're getting dehydrated." Sam insisted.

"Don't be an ass, Dean. Your brother's right," Sasha agreed.

Dean cracked an eye and looked from one to the other. Concern radiated off of both of them. And those damn puppy eyes. He hated it when they double whammied him.

"'K," he gave in.

Dean drew the line at letting them help him out of the car or into the diner. He had on one of Sam's hoodies and flipped it up to keep the majority of the patrons from seeing his badly bruised and swollen face. They picked a back booth and slid in. Dean was slightly annoyed when Sasha slid in next to him. He didn't know why that was his response. They often sat together, but for some reason today it irritated him. When Sasha tried to lay a comforting hand on his thigh, Dean caught his wrist before he could touch him.

"Dude! I'm pretty much tenderized everywhere. My _clothes_ hurt."

Sasha froze and pulled his hand back like he'd been stung.

"Sorry."

The situation was saved from being any more awkward by the appearance of their waitress. She smiled at Sam and turned up the volume on it for Sasha, but when her eyes landed on Dean, she gasped.

"Are you alright, honey?" Concern written across her face.

"Yeah. Just lost a fight with a door," Dean tried to give her one of his trademark grins, but again, he was pretty sure it fell flat and he diverted his attention to the middle of their table.

"Oh. Ok. Sure. Well, what can I get for you boys," the waitress turned back to her work.

Sam ordered the sandwich and salad combo, Sasha got a burger and fries, Dean got chicken noodle soup, and they all got coffee. Sam frowned when Dean ordered his.

"You're dehydrated, remember?" Sam pointed out.

"There's plenty of water here too," Dean countered.

"Sam's right, Dean. You need to drink." Sasha added.

"Fine," Dean ground out and picking up his water glass chugged the whole thing, slamming the glass back down so hard he almost shattered it and gaining the attention of pretty much everyone in the diner.

"Crap. Sorry." Dean almost instantly regretted his action as the water hit his empty stomach and burned. He let his head fall forward into his hand and closed his eyes.

He could feel Sasha and Sam's eyes upon him and he just didn't want to deal with them right now. He could take care of himself. Hell, he'd been doing it for years.

The waitress returned with their coffee and refilled Dean's water glass. Dean normally lived for the smell of coffee but in this instance, he thought the smell was going to make him lose his battle with Mr. Nausea. He did hug the mug in tight to his body to absorb the heat radiating off of it.

Sam and Sasha were making small talk about the upcoming case and the town they were heading to.

"I know a not bad little motel – it's cheap and clean. The bar that I sometimes sing at is just around the corner from it too," Sasha explained to Sam.

Sasha had made no further move to touch or get close to Dean. The incubus could sense the roiling emotions beneath the oldest Winchester's stoic exterior. He knew that what Dean needed most was the space and time to come to terms with this on his own. Sasha was betting that there would come a time when Dean would let him in, but he also knew that there was no hope of breaching Dean's defences before that time.

The food came. Sam and Sasha dug into theirs. Dean tried to force the soup down. It tasted good, and it was hot. He was still shivering he was so cold.

Dean managed to force down about half the soup. Sam and Sasha had finished their meals and were ready to leave.

"I'll catch up with you," Dean said after putting some bills on the table and following Sasha out of the booth. Sam nodded and headed for the door, but Sasha turned to follow Dean. Dean laid a hand on his chest.

"Dude. I am so not going to the can in a group." Dean's eyes locked with Sasha's blue. This wasn't up for debate.

Sasha shrugged and followed Sam.

Dean just made it into the washroom before losing his battle to keep the soup down. Actually having something to throw up didn't feel any better on his ribs. He quickly splashed water on his too pale face. Well, too pale except for all the bruising. He sighed and made his way back to the car. Sam had the engine running and Sasha had sprawled in the back.

"Here," Sam held a water bottle out to Dean as he slid into the passenger seat. "Figured you'd need to rinse your mouth out, and you're still gonna get dehydrated if you don't get some fluids in you."

Dean snorted but still muttered a thanks.

The rest of the afternoon passed in relative silence. Dean dozed uncomfortably in the passenger seat, and Sasha tried to sleep in the back as he would be out late playing at the bar.

It was a little after 5 when they pulled into the motel that Sasha had recommended. He ran in to get them a room as he had stayed there before, so they'd book Sasha one without cash or a credit card up front. Of course, as they liked Sasha here, the hunters wouldn't have used a fake card anyway.

Once Sasha returned with the key, they made their way into the room. It wasn't remarkable in any way. Just a clean, cheap room. Dean was so sore on climbing out of the car that he didn't even try to grab a duffle. Sam and Sasha exchanged looks.

"I'm gonna take a shower," Dean said. "Here's the last of the money if you want something to eat," he dropped it on the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

"I'll go," Sam volunteered. He hoped that Dean might be ready to talk to Sasha.

"Thanks," Sasha said gratefully, stretching out on one of the beds to wait.

Sasha was seriously beginning to wonder if Dean was actually going to come out of the bathroom before Sam came back, but finally, he did.

Sasha studied Dean as he came out. Still much, much too pale. The swelling around his left eye had at least gone down, but that just served to make the way his eyes crinkled when in pain more obvious. Dean moved like a man over three times his age.

"Sam left you a present," Sasha pointed out the painkillers and water Sam had left on the table.

"Thanks." Dean swallowed them, took a breath and finished the water in the bottle. He was hoping it would stay down. He felt like shit. In fact, he felt like shit on Tuesday's toast. He sank down on the other bed. He really didn't want to lean back on anything.

Sasha got up and came to sit beside him, close enough that they were almost touching. He could feel Dean lean subtly away from him.

"Dean talk to me," Sasha's voice was quiet, almost but not quite pleading.

"Bout what?" Dean did not want to have this conversation. Not now. Not a hundred years from now. Not that he was lasting even remotely that long.

"Last night. What happened." Sasha's voice had lost the pleading quality.

"I was stupid. Under estimated them. Got the shit beat out of me. I thought the whole thing was pretty obvious."

"You weren't the stupid one though, were you?"

"Huh?" Dean actually turned to look at Sasha.

"I got you beat up, didn't I?" Sasha's voice was hard, accusing.

"What? Who said that?" Dean was going to kill Sam.

"Nobody had to say it Dean. I'm not stupid. Though you may doubt that after last night." Sasha looked at the floor.

"I saw your jeans," Sasha's voice was barely a whisper.

_Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit_, Dean's thoughts were just stuck.

"I haven't cared what people think about my sexuality for a long time – well never actually. I love you, Dean, and I don't care who knows it. But that wasn't what last night was about. I let you down as a hunter. I didn't have your back," Sasha's voice resonated with the anguish that was clearly written on his face.

"This isn't on you. It's on me. I should have been more careful. I should have been able to get away." Dean's voice was quiet and Sasha saw the colour spread up his pale face.

"I'm gonna kill them," Sasha ground out, anger pushing all the other feelings aside.

"NO!" Dean turned and grabbed Sasha's arm, his eyes boring into the incubus' which were flashing red. "You will not. You will... Let. This. Go."

Sasha wrenched his arm away, missing Dean's grimace of pain, and stood up pacing the room.

"You can't expect me to just sit by and let someone hurt you!" Sasha wheeled to face Dean. "Let someone almost…"

"DON'T!" Dean cut Sasha off. "Don't fight my battles for me," Dean's voice was low but hard as steel. If he didn't feel like he was about to pass out, he would have been on his feet, shouting in Sasha's face.

"I care about you, Dean. That means I get to defend you!"

"I can look after myself."

"Oh yeah. I can certainly see that," Sasha's scathing tone was mirrored in his gaze which moved up the entire length of Dean's body.

"Screw you," Dean almost didn't regret raising his voice for that one. He stood from the bed, moving back into the bathroom and slammed the door.

"Dean!" Sasha shouted. He briefly considered knocking on or possibly knocking down the door, but he was just too frustrated and angry and hurt. Instead he grabbed the guitar and his leather jacket and stormed out of the motel room narrowly missing knocking Sam down.

"Hey! What about the food?" Sam called as Sasha stormed off.

"I'm not hungry. Don't wait up. I'll be late." Sasha called back over his shoulder, eyes flashing between cobalt blue and crimson.

Sam sighed. So that obviously didn't go well.

"Dean? You can come out of hiding. He's gone now," Sam called at the bathroom as he put the food on the table.

Dean emerged from the bathroom. He wasn't really sure if he was relieved he didn't have to continue the conversation or not. He looked disinterestedly at the food Sam was placing on the table.

"Did you have to tell him?" Dean asked as he sat at the table, careful not to lean back.

"I didn't tell him anything, Dean. He's not stupid. He cares about you. He loves you." Sam sighed in frustration.

"He thinks it's his fault. I'm afraid of what he's gonna do." Dean stared at the table and then looked up through his lashes at his brother.

"We'll talk to him tomorrow, Dean. Both of us. Maybe we got too comfortable too fast. We are still learning to work as a team. It just feels so natural to have Sasha around, we forget that he hasn't always been and he hasn't had quite the same experiences as we have," Sam as always articulated the whole problem.

"Lucky him, to experience the best in life Winchester style," Dean's tone was bitter.

"Hey, you're the one that has always maintained that it wasn't all bad. For now, you have to eat something. I brought you some beef broth and toast." Sam tried to reassure his brother. Sasha would be singing until late tonight because they needed the money. They'd all talk tomorrow, and they'd get past this little glitch.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean reached for the food.

Dean managed to choke down about half the soup and the toast. His stomach wasn't particularly happy about it, but it also wasn't just rejecting it either. Dean was swaying slightly in his seat by the time he'd finished. He couldn't believe he'd slept pretty much all day and was still exhausted. His body was throbbing everywhere again.

"Dean?" Sam said quietly to get his brother's attention. "Let me look at those cuts and then why don't you turn in?"

"S'ok, Sam. I checked it all myself," Dean gave himself a shake. "It's not even 8 yet. I'm not going to bed. I'm not five!"

"Whatever, but you're falling asleep in that chair, so humour me and move over to the bed and let me take a look those cuts."

"Anybody ever told you you're stubborn?"

"Pot? Have you met the kettle?" Sam quipped.

In the end, Dean did as Sam asked, flipping on the tv to distract himself. He was able to keep himself from flinching away from Sam's touch. It was Sam, damn it. Sam was satisfied with how Dean was healing for the moment. He brought more painkillers and some water over, handing them to Dean. Sam had also gotten some ice to put on Dean's shoulder.

"It's a little early, but I've got a feeling that even though you're not five, you will be asleep in five, so take these now." Sam waited until Dean had finished the water.

Dean finally gave up trying to sit up to watch the tv and curled onto his left side again. He didn't quite make Sam's five minutes before he was snoring softly.

Sam shook his head sadly. He gently got Dean under the covers, turned off the tv, removed the ice from his shoulder, and set a glass of water and some more painkillers beside the bed for if Dean woke up during the night. Sam flipped open the laptop after cleaning up the remains of dinner. He left Sasha's in case the incubus was hungry when he got back.

Sam had been working for a couple of hours when Dean started to get restless. He was muttering in his sleep and tossing his head. The muttering became more audible.

"No. Please….don't…no…no…'m not like that…no…please."

Sam cringed at the words and pleading tone of Dean's voice. When Dean started to move his arms and legs and the agitation seemed to have progressed into a full blown nightmare, Sam moved quickly to his brother's side and grasped his arm, in both an attempt to still and wake him.

"Dean! Wake up! It's just a nightmare," Sam raised his voice to wake his brother as quickly as possible. He wasn't quite prepared for Dean to swing his right fist straight for his head.

Sam ended up on his butt on the floor but managed to avoid Dean's blow.

"Dude, what the hell," Dean blinked blearily around and groaned softly. He was sweating and shaking and his shoulder was throbbing.

"You were having a nightmare, Dean. You ok now?" Sam's concerned face hovered over Dean as he stood up to smooth the covers over his brother.

"I'm fine, Sammy. Just a dream. Go way." Dean swatted Sam's hands away and shut his eyes.

"Fine." Sam huffed and went back to the computer. God how he hated that word. He didn't fail to notice that Dean's breathing didn't even out into sleep for quite some time.

Sam started and woke up. He had fallen asleep at the computer at some point, but something had woken him up. He hit the space bar to fire the computer out of hibernation and its soft glow illuminated the room. Sam checked the computer's clock. It was 1:30 am.

He immediately checked Dean. He hadn't moved and was still snoring softly. At first, Sam had thought it was Sasha, but the incubus had not entered the room. Then the penny dropped. Sam had heard the Impala door. He quickly rose and slipped outside. No one was near Dean's precious baby. Sam tucked the gun he'd grabbed into the back of his jeans and flipped his t-shirt down over it. He walked around the car to make sure it was secure. He found nothing and was about to go back inside when he realized the guitar was sitting in the back seat. Sam immediately scanned the parking lot. No Sasha.

While the mystery of Sasha's whereabouts concerned Sam, he knew he couldn't leave his brother, so he slipped back into the motel to wait for the incubus to return.

Dean was restless around three and stumbled into the bathroom and back. Coming back to the bed, Dean noticed the painkillers Sam had left out for him and gratefully took them. As Dean carefully lowered himself back onto the bed, he noticed Sam was still fully clothed and lying on top of the blankets on the other bed. Dean smirked. _Mom's waiting up. Bet the kid is in serious crap for staying out too late._

Dean was a little hurt that Sasha hadn't returned yet. He wasn't sure that he was up for talking yet, but he wanted the incubus close. Dean stifled a groan as he lay back down, trying not to wake Sam. It didn't take long for Dean to fall back to sleep as his injured body tried to heal.

Sam was woken by the sound of a key in the lock shortly after 6. The sun was just coming up and filtered weakly in the door with Sasha before it was abruptly cut off by Sasha closing the door. Sam had enough light to see that Sasha was a bit dishevelled and moved as though exhausted but otherwise looked fine.

"Where have you been," Sam asked quietly.

"Not now, please Sam? Can we talk in the morning?"

"It _is_ morning," Sam shot back.

"Please, Sam." Sasha's voice betrayed his exhaustion.

"Fine. But we are going to talk. All of us." Sasha didn't mistake the conviction in Sam's voice.

After a quick trip to the bathroom, Sasha carefully climbed into bed with Dean. Like the night before, Sasha curled in to spoon Dean without actually making contact with his injured back. He gently and tenderly kissed the back of Dean's neck. Dean's subconscious welcomed the comforting presence of the incubus. His conscious mind might still have gotten in the way, but Dean hummed quietly in response without waking up.

Dean smelled coffee and felt warm breath on the back of his neck. He knew that the moment he moved his current state of bliss would be shattered, so he stayed still for a moment to enjoy it. At least the drug hangover was gone. His head wasn't aching. He felt Sasha behind him and for the first time since the bar it felt right and it felt safe.

Dean started to take a deep breath in preparation of moving and was rewarded by a sharp pain from his broken ribs. He huffed and managed not to cough. And then Sam was there.

"You want a little help getting up?" His voice was just over a whisper.

Dean grunted, and Sam reached down to help him sit up to put as little strain on Dean's back, ribs, shoulder, and abdomen as possible. While Dean rested on the side of the bed, gathering his energy to make it into the bathroom, Sam grabbed painkillers and water, handing them to his brother. Dean smiled tightly in thanks and downed them.

"How are you feeling? Be honest for once," Sam had a cross between the bitch-face and the puppy-face happening. Dean was as always bemused by Sam's ability to do that.

"Better. I think. Definitely better after a long hot shower. What time is it?" Dean stood up slowly and was pleased when the room didn't tilt.

"Almost noon. Coffee'll be done by the time you are."

Dean paused before heading to the bathroom, looking back at the still sleeping incubus. There were dark shadows under his eyes and a slight frown passed over his face in sleep. His too red hair fell across his face and one hand seemed to be groping out in search of his missing companion.

"What time did he get in?" Dean asked quietly.

"'Bout 6."

"Damn." Dean retreated to the bathroom.

By the time Dean got out of the bathroom, he was feeling a whole lot better and Sam and Sasha were both sitting at the table. They were both nursing coffees and there was an uncomfortable silence between them. Dean got himself coffee and sat down at the table with the other two.

"So. Where the hell did you go last night," Dean took the bull by the horns.

"Dean," Sam warned. Dean hunched a shoulder in denial at Sam but kept his green gaze fixed firmly on Sasha's blue one.

"I went to the bar to sing." Sasha reached into his jacket, hanging on his chair, and pulled out a handful of bills, tossing them on the table.

"Last time I checked, bars didn't close at 6 in the morning," Dean ground out. He took the opportunity to really look at Sasha's face. He looked pale and tired; he still had dark smudges under his eyes. Dean realized he probably needed to feed.

"What do you want me to say?" Sasha replied quietly.

"If we're going to hunt together, you need to be completely honest with us," Sam jumped in. "I heard you when you put the guitar in the car."

"I think you both know what I did."

"How the hell…of all the stupid…what if…" Dean sputtered.

"Just start at the beginning, Sasha, so we know how bad this is gonna be,' Sam interrupted his brother.

Dean's scowl almost had his eyebrows knit together and he was clenching and unclenching his jaw.

"Fine. I finished up at the bar around 1, came back here to drop the guitar, flew back to that rat hole, beat the crap out of that stupid Pete and his buddies, and flew back here. Satisfied?" Sasha glared at the brothers. Defiant and unrepentant.

"Jesus," Dean swore, "You don't think an incubus attacking them might draw a little attention?"

"I didn't assume my incubus form, you idiot. I wanted them to know exactly who was kicking their asses and why."

"You asshole!" Dean managed to shout despite his bruised ribs.

"I wasn't going to let them just get away with hurting you!" Sasha raised his voice too. "I wasn't going to let them get away with almost rap--"

"DON'T!!" Dean shouted, interrupting and slamming his fist on the table. "Don't ever say that." His voice lowered almost to a whisper.

Dean glared at Sasha.

"I don't need you fighting my imaginary battles for me," he ground out. "Maybe I don't have freaky super powers like you two, but I've been fighting my own battles for a long time. I don't WANT you fighting them for me."

"It wasn't like that," Sasha tried to reason with Dean.

"The HELL it wasn't. It was EXACTLY like that. I am NOT your god damn damsel in distress." Dean's fist hit the table again. He couldn't bear the thought of them thinking he was weak.

"Dean, I could never think that," Sasha's voice had lost its heat. He could feel the pain and confusion beneath Dean's anger.

It was then that Dean glanced down to Sasha's beautiful hands. They were bruised and swollen with scrapes across the knuckles.

"Damn it," Dean said. "You need to get ice on those."

"You can't do things like this Sasha. Running off and following your own agenda. If we are going to be a team, you have to act like part of the team. That means each member knows what the others are doing. We make decisions together." Sam had his earnest professor voice on, but for once, Dean didn't object to either the tone or the content of Sam's speech.

Sasha dropped his head. He was so used to doing things on his own. But he loved being a part of something larger than just himself.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to try to make it right." Sasha finally said quietly looking at the table.

"It wasn't up to you to make it right," Dean insisted quietly.

"It was my fault that you got hurt," Sasha insisted.

"It was my own fault," Dean maintained.

"It was just as much my fault," Sam interjected. Sasha and Dean whipped their heads around to stare at Sam as if he had two heads.

"Seriously. I've been watching your back in places like that for long enough to read the signs, Dean. I never should have left you alone there." Sam's feelings of guilt were clearly strewn across his face.

Dean sighed. _Not another one_, he thought.

"Look. I'm a big boy," Dean said. "I told you to leave Sam. And Sasha? Apparently, I wasn't as subtle as I thought I was. I screwed up. I'm just glad that I'm the only one to suffer the consequences."

"Jesus, Dean!" Sam spit out. "You sound like you think you deserved this! Were you even listening? We're a team. We share equally in everything. And if you don't think patching you up and watching you in pain isn't enough of a consequence, think again."

Dean looked at Sam and Sasha. Really looked and saw how drawn both their faces were. His stomach sank. He really was a selfish bastard.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"So not my point, bro." Sam shook his head.

"So I guess this is a learning curve for all of us," Sasha broke in to try to relieve some of the tension. "We are all responsible for each other and to each other. So what we have here is a freaky three-way street?"

"I guess you could put it like that," Sam acquiesced. "But Sasha, you have to know that beating them up doesn't solve anything. It just gives them more reason to hate people different from them."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But do you really think that people like that ever change? If nothing else, maybe now they'll think twice about doing that to the next guy."

They sat in silence for a moment. The moment was shattered by a loud grumble from Dean's stomach.

"What?" He raised one eyebrow. "I haven't had a decent meal in _days_!"

Sam chuckled. "Fine. Let me get a shower and then we can get out of here and get something to eat."

Dean was glad the chick flick moment was over for now. He had pretty much reached emotional overload. He knew they were still going to have to keep defining and re-defining how they worked together.

"Dean?" Sasha said quietly once Sam had disappeared into the bathroom. "You don't think you deserved that beating do you?"

"What? No! Why would I? And why would you even ask that?" Dean babbled.

"You don't think that you should be punished because we're together." It wasn't really a question or a statement. "Do you, Dean?"

"Of course not."

"Then why won't you even let me touch you?"

"Dude! We've been sleeping together in the same bed."

"Yes. Sleep. Like you could do with your brother."

"I'm sore, you know," Dean's answers were getting increasingly defensive.

Sasha got up and walked over to Dean's chair. He reached out towards Dean's face. Dean's first reaction was to recoil from the touch, but he managed to stop himself. This was Sasha. He loved Sasha. He loved Sasha touching him.

Sasha paused with his hand half way to Dean's face when he saw him flinch and pull back. He waited until he saw Dean relax and then he gently stroked Dean's cheek with his thumb, carding his fingers back through the older hunter's hair. Finally Dean leaned into the caress. His eyes had fluttered shut.

"Are you ashamed of us? Of us being together?" Sasha's voice was almost a whisper.

"NO!" Dean glanced up quickly through his long dark lashes and then his eyes went back to the table. But he grabbed Sasha's wrist and held it firmly in place.

"I'm not ashamed," Dean insisted. "It's just that it's been so easy up til now…"

Sasha snorted. "Easy? Do you remember how long it took me to get you to admit you even _had_ feelings for me? Do you remember how many times you denied it and back tracked and all out ran away?"

"This was never how I pictured myself." Dean admitted quietly.

"What? In a relationship? In love?" Sasha pressed.

"No. None of it." Sasha was momentarily shocked by Dean's reply.

"You deserve to be happy, Dean. We both do." Sasha turned Dean's chair slightly and squatted down in front of him, placing one hand gently on each of his knees, looking up now into Dean's face.

"Somehow I don't think the rest of the world shares your opinion."

"Fuck them, then," Sasha said fiercely.

"No thanks. I've already had that invitation and turned it down," Dean quirked one side of his mouth up into a bitter smile.

"I wish I could have protected you from that forever," Sasha's voice was almost a whisper. "It's hard when you realize some people will hate you for what you are and what you can't change."

Dean realized that Sasha was talking about more than just his sexual orientation. Sasha had had to deal with being an outsider all of his life. More so even than Dean.

Dean reached out a hand to Sasha. The first time since the attack that he had done so. He gently stroked the crimson hair back from his face and it was Sasha's turn to lean into his touch.

"It's gonna take me some time…" Dean trailed off.

"It's ok, Dean. Just let me be here to help when I can."

"You already have." Dean smiled at the incubus and drew his head to him, gently but firmly kissing him on the forehead.

"I'm not ashamed of you. I mean who could be? You're adorable. But baby? You also stink right now," Dean wrinkled his nose and smirked.

Sam found them still smiling and Sasha laughing when he came out of the shower.

"Apparently, I need to shower too," Sasha said and brushed past Sam into the bathroom.

"You guys ok?" Sam asked quietly.

"We will be," Dean smiled at his brother.

They were quiet as Sam drove to the nearest diner. Sasha had recommended the food as good, filling, and cheap. Something was still nagging at Dean, though.

He cleared his throat as he got stiffly out of the Impala.

"Look. I just have one final thing to say. We may be a team and equal and all, but you know that at the end of the day, that's not quite the way it is." Dean started.

Sam and Sasha had come around the car and waited for Dean to continue.

"You two have those freaky super powers going for you." Dean smiled. He never wanted either of them to think that affected the way he felt about them. "All I've really got going for me is my big brother mojo."

"Dean," Sam and Sasha said simultaneously.

"Scary," Dean laughed, "and I guess you've got a little doublemint action going for you too!"

They all laughed and made a face at that, but it did help to break the tension that had started to build.

"Dean, I love you. So does Sam. We can't help but want to protect you back," Sasha started.

"I do take some pride in my own abilities, you know." Dean broke in. "I need to feel like I'm playing some role here. I can't change who I am, and I don't want to." Dean was frustrated by his inability to articulate his feelings. Of course, that's because normally he just refused to try to articulate them.

"And because it can't be said enough, I'm not ashamed of _us_, you idiot! Or _you_." To prove his point, Dean grabbed Sasha and placing one hand on either side of his face quickly pulled the incubus to him and kissed him hard. Sasha was too shocked to resist and Sam gaped openly.

Dean broke the kiss.

"Don't ever expect that to happen in public again," Dean said and pushed Sasha ahead.

"And just because I'm not kissing you, it doesn't mean I feel any differently about _you_," Dean grabbed Sam and pushed him in the same direction.

"If you two emo-twins are satisfied, I need to feed my shockingly neglected stomach!" Dean had had enough chick-flick to last for at least a month.

Sam and Sasha swung around in tandem and stared at Dean.

"Jerk!" They both said simultaneously. They swung their eyes back to each other and burst out laughing.

Coming up in between the other two who had started to walk toward the diner, Dean swatted both of them on the backs of their heads.

"Bitches!" Dean grinned and walked between them and into the diner.

* * *

**A/N:** And so begins the healing process. As always, I'm dying to know what people think…..

And finally, a little shameless self-promotion in the name of a good cause. K. Hanna Korossy is hosting a Supernatural fanfic auction for the next two weeks (June 28-July 12) to benefit a fellow writer, publisher and friend who is in need of a wheelchair. Twenty-two writers (including myself) and two vidders have offered their talents and time to this endeavour and every penny bid or donated goes to the fund. The auction can be found at www(dot)thefreeauction(dot)com, under Miscellaneous-General. Registering to bid is fast and easy. If you have any questions, please contact K. Hanna Korossy. Here's a great way to have a story written for you and help raise money for a good cause!


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